Idry: Norse Mythology Fan Fiction part 2
by AGreenewich
Summary: Chapters 3 and 4: Idry's visions are getting stronger. Odin has sent her a visitor to clarify her fate


CHAPTER 3

Sif is taking a bath at the lazy stream that runs parallel to the hut. It's a hot day and the once powder frosted riverbed is wet with the slow tears of snow melting on the side of the mountain. Idry watches her sister wash through the cut out window. She took the animal skins down so that the hut can cool off. She hates any semblance of heat. Sif seems to enjoy Mother Nature's change of heart. She's stark naked, swaying to some tune she's made up. The bright sun hits the curve of her hips like an eclipse. The crescent curves and spreads and then all her womanhood is bathed in a glow of light.

"You should wash too!" Sif yells, waving at her sister. Idry laughs, as her sister starts waving her hands above her head in some bizarre dance.

She would join her if she didn't need to hide the scratches on her back. The neighbor's looking glass, no the look on her neighbor's face let Idry know it was bad. Their neighbor, Maghreb, is usually cheap with his words, but the groans, the turning her into the light to examine the wounds, the way his wrinkled brown face met hers in the looking glass told her it was bad. On first glance she thought he was scowling at her, but it wasn't that simple. It was the look her father gave her when she left Ahrensburg: disappointment. Fathers look at daughters that way when they are no longer silly girls, but stubborn women.

"Who did you let do this to you?" Maghreb said to her turning Idry to face him, "I've seen you kill. Your hands don't even look like you tried!"

"It's complicated. I just need salve, please. I know you help the hunters so help me. Before my sister returns would be best."

Maghreb narrows his eyes at her before a stiff nod. His eyes seem to ask her the question again: who did she let do this to her?

 _Let_ is not how Idry would describe Odin's monster invading her room and her land at its leisure. The head shoulders and arms are fully metamorphosed now. It's so loud now. A rumble like an avalanche always seems to be stuck in it's throat. She doesn't even know what to call it. Sif never sees it. She is sure her sister and now Maghreb thinks she's going mad.

"Id! Can't you hear me? Come wash you filthy woman!" Sif yells and splashes water high in the air. Id snaps out of her day dream to her sister standing on the bank with her hands on her hips.

"Later, sister. I'm going to town to get new linen," Idry says, knowing her sister will protest. Sif will want to buy anything to add what she calls "delicacy" to the hut.

"Gods forbid! I will drown you in my dirty bath water first!"

"Fine. You win! Save some water from me before Eostre retires her warmth from this mountain."

"Why you know the names of all of these gods is beyond me," Sif says, walking away from the stream.

"They are father's gods," Idry says, looking away from the water leaking from her sister's breast.

"Ugh. Don't remind me. Well, unlike yours my mother was a heathen. She taught me nothing of gods. Though she spoke of Ermunaz once or twice. Do you know him? Does he ever speak to you?"

"Your mother was too busy spoiling you to teach you the difference. She nearly bankrupted father, you know? Father and my gods are not Saxon gods. I don't know _Ermunaz_ , and he doesn't know me."

"Oh, settle down will you? God, you're the most pious killer I've ever met. And she taught me only what was important for a woman. And I won't mock your dead mother if you don't mock mine."

"Just get dressed. Maghreb will see you."

Sif sticks out her tongue and throws a blanket lazily over her wet body before heading inside.

When Sif skirts down the hill with too much gold jingling from her pouch, Idry goes into the stream. The banks are already starting to frost over. She will have but a moment before she freezes to death. The deep claw marks on her back drink up the icy water. The stream dirties around her slim, boyish figure as filthy, dried out salve, and blood floats away from her. Idry closes her eyes, letting the slowing streams lap over her. It's getting too cold even for her. It's as if the stream is freezing before her eyes. She sits up, shivering, pinching her eyes closed. Idry's eyes pop open when she hears a crunch.

"Who's there?" she yells, crawling out of the bank. Her dagger is in her pile of dirty clothes, but it quickly finds her hands.

"I'm sorry," a low voice says, stepping from behind a dying wych elm. The figure is tall, it's head covered with a black hood. His whole body is covered in black except for pale grey hands.

"If you are looking for my sister, she's gone. If you are looking for trouble, I'll slit your throat and wear your skin to bed!"

The stranger holds up his hands, stiff as a board.

"Speak!" Idry yells, pulling on her heavy wool shawl.

He pulls his hood back. Deep dark circles are around dark eyes emblazoned with fear. He searches her, lips thin, and twitching. He seems terrified, but he doesn't run away.

"You're a—dragon?" Idry says, lowering her dagger.

He drops his hands and his shoulders relax.

" _We_ call ourselves Thracians, but yes. I take it master Odin didn't tell you I was calling."

CHAPTER 4

Idry holds out a glass of mead with one hand and keeps her free hand on her dagger.

"Thank you. I'm Wyrm, but everyone calls me Wy," the dragon says sipping his mead.

"Idry. Everyone? You mean the other dragons?" Idry snaps back.

"Please don't call us that. We know you mean _snakes_. We just can't tolerate the light. It hurts our skin."

"Says who?"

"Our ancient ones," he says downing the mead.

"Hmm," Idry huffs.

"They say our blood is cursed. Why would your god speak to me?"

"Why would he speak to me? Women don't—"

"I know. Same. Our ancient ones are all men. My mum barely speaks. They—they don't know I'm here. I've been waiting in that tree for the sun to go down."

"My tree! And you've been spying on us! While we were washing?" Idry pulls out her dagger, the point on Wy's scruffy chin. A thin stream of blood runs down the black hair in his beard, and slows on his pale grey skin.

"I mean no harm—and ow!" Wy yells, holding up his hands.

"Tell me what Odin said to you exactly. Leave nothing out, and you must be gone by the time my sister returns."

"He showed me your face, your hut. Nothing before this instruction was clear. He specifically told me to come now—" Wy flinches as the dagger burrows deeper into his chin.

"Speak!"

"I can't with you stabbing me!"

Idry lowers her hand, stepping backward.

"Ow," Wy rubs his chin.

"Well?"

"That's it."

Idry scoffs.

"He wants me to stay here," Wy says barely above a whisper.

"For what? Until when?"

Wy shrugs, eyes still fixed on the dagger twitching at her side.

Idry goes to speak, but as she looks at Wy his eyes appear to glow yellow. She steps back, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"Idry? Are you alright?" Wy says, rising and walking towards her.

Idry closes her eyes, but when she reopens them Wy is still standing there, eyes bright amber with a crown made of talons on his head.


End file.
